


The High Cost of Armageddon

by IneffableAlien



Series: Endless Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Based on Neil Gaiman's The Sandman, Character Death, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Existentialism, Freezing Time, Gen, Holy Water, Meta, Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Suicidal Thoughts, Tadfield Air Base
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Where Crowley learned how to stop time, or, a philosophical treatise on literary thought forms.Everyone gets a lifetime.  Even Death.
Relationships: Crowley & Death (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Death of the Endless
Series: Endless Omens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540678
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions





	The High Cost of Armageddon

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this my contribution to society, making sure the younger generations of fans remember _The Sandman_ 🖤🐍

GOOD DAY, GENTLEMEN.

Thunder boomed all throughout the air base as Death spread his wings into the sky, truly, “into” the sky—for they sliced open the very dimensions surrounding him, leaving inky black that was dotted with twinkling white in their wake, like great hanging slabs of snowflake obsidian. Anyone else might have mistaken the numberless white orbs for stars, but Crowley knew a thing or two about stars.

_Souls,_ Crowley thought. _His wings are speckled with souls._

And just like that, Crowley felt the world _stop_ on a dime. There was no more breeze; the air felt wispishly tangible in light of atoms ceasing to move. The only sound at first was Crowley’s own corporation’s blood thrumming in his ears.

“Uh,” said Crowley. He spun where he stood, and was stunned to see that all present company at the End of the World was frozen in place, even the angel. All company, that is, save two mind-blowingly powerful supernatural entities standing on either side of him.

Awestruck, Crowley saw the Horseman he had previously thought of as Death, and now, having come into existence seemingly out of the ether, a beautiful, raven-haired, marble-white woman who he now knew, objectively, undeniably, to _be_ Death. She was dressed all in black and wore a silver ankh, her eyes were lined with kohl, and to be near her was an absolute joy.

“Uh,” Crowley reiterated.

The Horseman addressed Death, ignoring Crowley completely. THIS IS NO CONCERN OF YOURS, said the Death who was not Death, AND YOU HAVE NO PURCHASE IN THIS AFFAIR.

Death laughed, waving her wrist, and it was quite possibly the warmest laugh Crowley had ever heard. “Azrael,” she said, “you are so dramatic! And you know that, literally _everything_ is my concern. I’m everywhere, even now.”

“Er, excuse me,” Crowley eked out, holding up a finger.

Death turned to Crowley and smiled, and it was a smile he felt down in the core of his being. In spite of everything, that smile gave him some peace. “Not yet, Crawly,” she said. “Don’t worry, I see you there.” She returned her attention to Azrael. “Azrael,” she said, “you know why I am here.”

I AM CREATION’S SHADOW, Azrael said. YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME, THAT—

“Right, right,” Death said, nodding agreeably, “that would destroy the world, yup, got it. Azrael,” she spoke gently now, “Azrael, you are a version, of a story, from a book, that was written thousands of years ago. And now your story—the story of How the World Does Not End—is coming up on the last page.”

Azrael stood silent. I AM DEATH, he said. I WAS, AND I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN.

“Yes,” Death said, “that is true. And it is also not true. It is the truth”—she spread her hands, palms faced up appeasingly—“of your story.”

THE STORY IS NOT ENDED, said Azrael. ARMAGEDDON SHALL RETURN.

Death clicked her tongue. “It might,” she said. “And that will be a different story, for a different time, and you will be you and you will not be you, and you will be there and you will not be there, and so will I be there also.” She grinned and scrunched up her nose adorably. “It’s not so complicated when you really think about it.”

Crowley was sure he was going insane.

“You’re not going insane, Crawly,” Death said to the side. “Like I said, I see you. I’ll explain a little better what’s going on in a minute.”

Crowley opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He finally managed to say, “… Crowley.”

_“Crowley,”_ Death repeated, testing out the name. “I like that. Not so squirming-at-your-feet-ish.”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Crowley muttered in a state of shock.

WHY THEN WERE YOU NOT THERE TO RETRIEVE THE OTHER HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE? Azrael demanded of Death.

“I was,” Death said. “I did. I was there for them, too, Azrael. I am always there.”

Death extended her hand finally. “Azrael,” she said, very softly, “please—this is how the Book ends.”

Azrael tilted his skull in a way that made it appear he was considering Death’s hand. He slowly looked back up into her face. To Crowley’s surprise, Azrael asked her, _WAS I IMPORTANT?_

Death leaned in closer, gazing kindly into Azrael’s eyeless sockets. “Yes,” she said tenderly. “Whether we sprang from the minds of man or from the dawn of all things, we are all important, and I _always_ care.”

Azrael thought about that for a moment. Finally, he said, simply, THANK YOU. He took Death by the hand, and Crowley was forced to shield his eyes while everything around the three glowed whiter and hotter than nothing at all. When the world faded back into view, Crowley and Death were alone.

Crowley was bewildered. “Did I die?” he asked, rewinding everything that had happened before time froze in an attempt to pinpoint when he could have possibly been killed.

“No, Crowley,” Death said. She beamed at him affectionately, and something in her smile reminded him of Aziraphale. “You are very much not dead.”

“So why am I here?” he asked shakily.

“Ah, that is the question,” Death said. “Why is anyone here?”

“N-no,” said Crowley, “I meant, why am I here, with you, frozen in time?”

“Oh! Right,” Death giggled. “Crowley, you are here because _this_ story”—she waved her arms to indicate, generally, _everything_—“is _not_ over. And maybe I am a little more invested than I ought to be—I like people. I think they’re neat.”

“‘Neat,’” Crowley echoed.

“Well, sure!” Death said, nodding up and down. “They have, hot dogs, and sad songs that they listen to on purpose, and they put food out for stray cats … Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

“No,” said Crowley. But then he paused. “Yes,” he said quietly. “They’ve got … ten-year Scotch, and cars, and they cultivate all sorts of new plants …”

“Exactly!” said Death, throwing her arms wide. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

Crowley stared at her. “So … you’re really Death?”

“Yes,” she said.

Crowley must have had so many questions, but his mind was a blank. He didn’t know why he said what he said next, but he felt moved to confess: “There were times, I thought about it. I had holy water. There were times—”

“I know that, Crowley,” Death soothed. “And for the record? _I am very glad you didn’t.”_

“Why does it ever feel that way at all, though?” he asked weakly.

Death gave him a sad little smile. “I don’t know, Crowley,” she said. “Maybe it’s so you can appreciate the good times better.”

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, okay, this one is going to sound strange,” he started, “but, your smile—why do you remind me so much of the angel?”

Death did not hesitate. “Because you love me, Crowley,” she said. “I love you, too.”

“Huh,” Crowley said. Somehow that made perfect sense.

“He might see me later,” said Death. Then, seeing Crowley’s alarmed expression: “Oh! No, not like that. But just a heads-up, if I look different, to avoid confusing him … just roll with it.”

“Right. Well, now all this—why _me?”_ He gestured at the others, still frozen in time.

Death spoke very carefully now. “Because,” she said, “Crowley, I _know_ you. You’re a fast learner, and you have _imagination._ You can imagine you can _do_ things.” She looked about meaningfully. “I am showing you something.

“I am showing you,” Death said, “what you can do to save the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
